I'm Not Angry At You, Sherlock
by gopadfoot
Summary: A series of 221b's focusing on Mycroft's relationship with his siblings. Angst, hurt, comfort, humor and fluff all included! Please review! Notice: Accepting prompts. Send your ideas for drabbles about the Holmes siblings, in the review section or PM.
1. I'm Not Angry at You, Sherlock

To Dr. and Mrs. Watson, he must have sounded ridiculous.

"I'm not angry with you..."

Those words might be what a parent would say to a recalcitrant child, who was facing a scolding. Not to a brother who resented his very existence, and had never cared much for his opinion. Not to a brother whom he had sent into exile, and then recalled the moment his help was needed. Certainly not to a high-functioning sociopath, who lived to get under his older brother's skin.

He tried to get them to understand, yet he knew it wasn't possible. It didn't help that Sherlock went into his usual spiel. Even a deaf man could have sensed the sarcasm as Sherlock shot back, "I was _really_ worried." But to clear up any doubts, he added, "No, hold on. I really wasn't."

Mycroft smirked internally. It was the same response, every single time. Yet he would repeat that line, again and again, each time Sherlock needed to hear it.

The Watson couple wasn't there when he held a young, overdosed, broken Sherlock, who suddenly looked up at his big brother, and asked in a very small voice, "Mycroft, are you still angry with me?"

And he knew he would always remind him that he never could really be.


	2. Fully-functioning Human Beings

Mycroft Holmes doesn't trust babies.

Certainly, they are adorable when they are first brought home. Their seven year old brother can't be blamed for being curious about them. How is he to know, that the moment the tiny, fully-functioning human being is put into his arms, he will be overwhelmed by the trust the tiny human is showing in him by sleeping peacefully in his arms? And that he will feel obliged to justify that trust by committing himself to said baby's welfare?

The older brother cannot be blamed, even when he's eight and the tiny human thrust into his arms is a brand-new, female sibling. He is still young. He still hasn't learned how dangerous these tiny humans can be. Before he can take precautions, there are somehow two tiny humans who have wormed their way into his heart, and stay there, forever and ever.

Even when one of them turns out to be so broken, that he lives in terror of what ills she can bring. Even when one of them is determined to destroy himself, bit by bit, and needs his brother to rescue him from the swamps of addiction, again and again and again. They are still there, in a heart now frozen over.

Mycroft Holmes doesn't trust babies.


	3. The Most Dangerous Man

In an abandoned warehouse, Sherlock was waiting with two of his most trusted spies, members of the Homeless Network.

"He should have been here ten minutes ago," Sherlock said, annoyed. He dialed the number, again. The call went to voice mail. "Now he finds even picking up the phone too cumbersome," he spat disgustedly. "Lazy git."

His specialized communication device suddenly beeped. "What is it, Belton?" he barked impatiently.

"We've caught an intruder," the young, enthusiastic voice came through. The two Network members on guard duty might have been new, but they were capable. Sherlock groaned. "Bring him in," he instructed.

He left another message for Mycroft. "You need to come _now_ before the whole gang descends upon us," he fumed.

Belton and Garland dragged the suspect in, bound and wearing a sack over his head. "You know 'im?" Wiggins asked them.

"Sure thing, mate. 'Is photo was right near the top o' the list. Labeled 'ighly dangerous. With warnings to never give anythin' away to 'im, an' to be avoided at all costs. An' now we got 'im, while 'e tried sneakin' in."

Sherlock seemed to be in shock. "Take the sack off," he instructed, "but leave the bindings, for now."

"Good evening," he greeted the man, smirking gleefully. "How nice of you to finally show up, dear brother."


	4. The Children are Playing

The children were playing, once again.

Sweet notes, blending together harmoniously. Just like before.

Only this time, something was missing.

Mycroft didn't play. He was somewhat challenged in the department of dexterity, and his fingers weren't as nimble and delicate as one would require to become proficient in playing the violin, or piano. He also lacked motivation to continuously practice at it.

Or, as Sherlock put it, he was simply too fat, clumsy, and lazy. So he didn't play. But he loved music. He loved to listen to the little ones playing. And he loved to sing.

They would perform together for their parents. Eurus usually chose the pieces they would play, and with infinite patience, she would guide Sherlock in rehearsing. Mycroft did the vocals, sometimes with lyrics, sometimes only humming, a voice without words.

They were playing together again, their parents watching. The little ones had grown tall. They spoke to each other through the tender notes of a melody, through the soulful sound of the violin. This time, no one told him, "Mycroft, come sing."

His felt the tender touch of his mother's hand, but this wasn't what he wished for. He wished for his voice to be heard. With words, or without, a part of a whole, as he was once before.


	5. I'm Sorry

If there was one thing Mycroft Holmes knew how to do, it was to accept responsibility when he messed up. Or when his brother messed up, due to Mycroft's actions. He didn't see much difference between the two.

If there was another thing Mycroft Holmes knew how to do, it was to say "I'm sorry." He made long and arduous apologies to the Queen, and expressed his regrets to many diplomats. He begged pardon (usually in very dangerous tones) from those who did not interpret his words correctly, and even asked for forgiveness from his parents on occasion, when he had hurt them. But there was only one person that he was used to saying "I'm sorry," and fully meaning it.

"I drove you into her path. I'm sorry," he told his little brother, when the latter had ruined an international operation. On other occasions, he accepted guilt, and let "I'm sorry" be implied. "This is my fault," he told his brother, high as the plane he had just been flying. "This is my fault," he said about Moriarty's involvement in Sherrinford, even if it had been Sherlock who had attracted him in the first place.

His brother was his responsibility, and no matter how he messed up, Mycroft would always take the blame.


	6. Mycroft's Missing Munchies

Mycroft tolerated the undersized people living under the same roof as him. One might even say he had grown quite fond of them. Until they put their grubby little hands on his most prized posessions.

"Who took my jammie dodgers _again_!" Mycroft rounded on his siblings. Sherlock tried to stifle his giggles behind a tiny hand. Eurus only blinked at him innocently.

"I can see the jam all over your shirt, Lockie," Mycroft said sternly. "And Russy, you missed some crumbs on your trousers."

"Perhaps they were mine," the little girl shrugged.

"Perhaps they were _mine_ ," the big brother retorted.

"You can't prove it," Eurus said calmly, and Sherlock lost his struggle and giggled long and loud.

Mycroft stormed off.

The scenario repeated itself the next week, only this time it was his ginger nuts. The next time, it was his chocolate biscuits. No matter how well he hid it, the little rascals managed to find it.

He had an Eureka moment; if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So he asked for their help in solving the Mystery of Mycroft's Missing Munchies. If they solved the case, they would be awarded, henceforth, a share of his goodies.

The duo found a squirrel upon whom to blame their misdeeds.

Mycroft and his siblings then munched on chocolate biscuits.


	7. Staying Alive

"Farewell, brother, I hope the accommodations are to your liking."

Eurus's words were mocking, but she spoke in her usual monotone. For all he understood her, she could have been completely sincere.

"I'm surprised to find myself yet among the living," his bland tone matched hers. Her last game had made him snap out of his panic, and step up to the plate as always (although he didn't usually offer himself as a target). He was accepting of whatever else might come.

"Why would that be?" she asked in confusion. "That would be dull. The game is over."

He shook his head bitterly. "What about Sherlock and Dr. Watson?"

"I'm going to be _very_ entertained," she said gleefully.

"If you kill the doctor, Sherlock will be broken. Worse than last time. He won't be able to play." He had finally grasped her goal, a bit late in the game.

"I need context," she said nonchalantly.

"So keep him alive. Give Sherlock a chance to save him. That will be a better motivator than having him look for his friend's body, again." Mycroft's struggled to sound composed and rational.

His sister giggled. "You always were the clever one, Mikey."

She left him in the cell, wondering how many times a broken heart could still break.


	8. Fatcroft

**A/N:** I don't usually leave author's notes in this series, but I'm making an exception this time. I would love to hear your views on these drabbles. If you can tell me which one was your favorite, and why, I'd be really delighted. Please review:)

* * *

Sherlock heard it once, from a neighborhood bully. It was enough for him.

Sherlock quickly took to calling his brother "Fatcroft." Mycroft was hurt and bewildered the first time, but quickly covered it up. It was too late. Sherlock had finally discovered his weak point.

Mycroft would retaliate by calling his brother an idiot, and a stupid little boy. It wasn't very nice, but it somehow made him feel better. If Sherlock was stupid, Mycroft didn't have to take him seriously.

As they grew more mature, so did their taunts. Sherlock would make sly references to Mycroft's diet and weight, and Mycroft would by mocking Sherlock's "silly little cases," and his bullheadedness. The younger Holmes would scorn his brother's aversion to legwork, and the older one would remind him who the smart one was.

Then came the day when Sherlock didn't mock his brother's weight. Instead, he questioned his intelligence. And Mycroft quietly questioned it, too.

Many other things happened that day. There were choices made, and secrets exposed. There was caring shown by two men who didn't think of caring as an advantage. There were two things, at least, that were different from that day on.

Mycroft never again called himself "the smart one." And Fatcroft was relegated to the rubbish bin.


	9. Speculophilia

Sherlock, being a devoted brother, was determined to cure his brother. Mycroft was suffering from a severe cases of speculophilia, which compelled him to obsessively spy on everyone. Of course, it didn't hurt that Mycroft's cure would allow Sherlock more freedom in activities his brother didn't quite approve of.

If the root of the disease was too much spare time, the detective mused, then the cure would be to keep him busy. In other words, Mycroft Holmes needed to get a life.

Sherlock set his plan in motion on Monday, one day before the vote in Parliament on the new security bill. He easily hacked into the politicians' computers, sending different messages to those who were likely to vote for and against the bill, respectively. The message contained veiled threats if they went through with their planned actions.

Smugly, Sherlock unleashed the chaos and then went "shopping" for a new stash of contraband. Mycroft would be kept more than busy today. Carrying his bags, he giddily ran up the stairs to his flat- only to stop short. The deplorable visage of the British Government met him in the living room.

"How did you _know_!" Sherlock exclaimed in vexation.

"You probably shouldn't have signed your threats with "Love, The Pirate," Mycroft replied archly. "Now hand over your bags."


	10. Scared

Can a government be scared? Can an Ice Man?

Sherlock knows it's possible. He's seen it himself.

The very first time (that he remembers) is when three-year-old Sherlock fell into the lake while playing "pirate." Ten-year-old Mycroft fished him out, an expression of utter terror on his face. Sherlock then learned a new piece of information; endangered Sherlock=scared Mycroft.

When Sherlock was eighteen, involved in a raging feud with Mycroft over the younger one's lifestyle choices, he wondered if that equation still held true. On the day he almost gave up on life, he called Big Brother, who rushed to find him. Once again, an endangered Sherlock saw terror in his brother's eyes, and knew it still did.

When Big Brother watched him being tortured and didn't say a word, he might have wondered if the equation changed. But for a fleeting second, he saw the familiar terror in Mycroft's eyes, and knew he could still be afraid for him.

When Sherlock faked his suicide, when he was shot, when he was the one who shot someone, when he cycled into drug-induced delirium, when he held a gun to his chin, he could still see the fear lurking, and understood he still held that unique power over his brother.


	11. The World Outside

"Mycroft, tell me about the world out there," Eurus requested.

Eurus was twelve years old. She had been in Sherrinford for three. Mycroft was twenty.

"You know. You have your books and DVD's," Mycroft replied.

"I want to know what it is to experience life. To be fully immersed in it. To wake up in the morning to chirping birds, and drink coffee before work. Mingling with others. Having relationships. Living amidst the chaos of daily survival, with all the struggles and decisions you are forced to make."

Mycroft stared at his sister. Her tone was bland and clinical, as if she was discussing a scientific study. She didn't seem to be lonely, or bored. Then again, she rarely showed any emotion at all. He could never figure out what was going on inside her head.

But he had noticed it; a tiny spark of _yearning._ He felt a crushing guilt, and he could barely stand to look at her anymore. Yet he knew that he was her only chance now, to get a taste of a life she could have lived.

So Mycroft spoke. He painted a picture, and made it come alive by adding sounds, smells, and colorful sights, even a dash of emotions. She seemed entranced, but he dearly wished he was able to do better.


	12. Redbeard

"They still won't let me have a puppy," five-year-old Sherlock said morosely. "It's not fair!"

"It's not like Daddy wants to be allergic," Mycroft said pragmatically. "You wouldn't enjoy your puppy if Daddy would be sneezing and red-eyed because of it."

"When I'm going to be a pirate, I will have a puppy on board. No, not a puppy, a _gigantic_ dog. And he will have huge, sharp fangs, and he will look so scary. I will feed him treats all day, and let him sleep on the rug in my cabin."

Mycroft suppressed a smirk as his little brother prattle on about his fantasy world, glad that he wasn't whinging about his puppy anymore.

When Sherlock made a new friend, playing pirates became their favorite activity. Naturally, Sherlock insisted on being the captain. Sherlock called himself Yellowbeard, while Victor was given the nom de plume Redbeard, and the two little boy's would have been content searching for treasure aboard their imaginary ship forever and ever.

Of course, that didn't happen. Redbeard disappeared, along with Sherlock's innocence and zest for life. Along with Eurus, who was no longer even a memory in Sherlock's mind.

Sherlock didn't really remember Redbeard. Only his dream of what Redbeard could be.


	13. Dragon Slayer

"A dragon slayer," my little brother mused. "Is that what you think of me?"

"It's what you think of yourself," I shot back, skirting the real question.

 _What, indeed, do you think of me, brother mine?_

I won't answer that one, even if you do ask directly. My answer is not one you'll like. I can only hint at it.

 _Your loss would break my heart._

Do you know why?

Of course you don't. You imagine me to be your competitor, always out to catch your mistakes, so that I can gloat over them.

You imagine me to be locked in some kind of eternal power struggle with you, using all my resources to prove my superiority.

You even imagine me to be some kind of enemy. An archenemy, when you're feeling kind enough. The title at least acknowledges my playing a significant role in your life.

If only you could see what I see when I look at you.

 _A little boy with dark curls, terrified to death, standing bravely in front of a squad with weapons drawn. I can see the tears pouring from your eyes, although no one else can._

When the dragon has been slayed, who will come to the rescue of the dragon slayer?

 _Who will rescue the crying little boy?_


	14. Tell Me

"Tell me about Sherlock," the prisoner demanded.

Mycroft swallowed hard. He didn't want to. He didn't want to give over his little brother's life into the hands of a volatile psychopath. Sherlock had to be protected from those who could to hurt him.

Yet he knew he wouldn't refuse. Just like he hadn't the last time, and the time before. Nevertheless, he began with his usual preface. "Sherlock's life is not a game for you to play."

The prisoner smirked. "We'll see about that. Sherlock is my favorite, you know that."

"I do. And that's why I'll do my utmost to keep you away from him."

The inmate grinned. "Tell me."

And so he spoke. He told of Sherlock's life, his dreams, his habits. His new friend.

"A friend?" came the disbelieving response.

"Yes. And you will _not_ mess with him either."

As he spoke, he saw the previously dead-looking eyes come to life, glowing with interest. He swallowed his bile. He hoped he wasn't stoking a fire that could potentially burn them all.

And yet, he talked. Because talking about Sherlock was the only way to bring that spark of life into his sister's drab existence. He only prayed that his kindness would never turn into betrayal.


	15. A Glimpse into the Future

Mycroft opened the door, and glared at his visitor in irritation.

"It's past ten at night, for goodness sake! I was just about to retire. Have you still not learned some basic decency?"

"If hadn't learned it in the past seventy-two years, did you expect me to learn it now?" Sherlock smirked.

"Hmm, good point," Mycroft conceded. Wait, had he actually agreed with his brother? Old age must really be catching up with him. Speaking of which-

"How did you hear the doorbell? I thought your hearing's going," Sherlock teased.

"New alarm system. I've got a vibrating disk in my pocket."

"Ah, a senior's special," the detective ribbed him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, or some bees to assist?" Mycroft retorted frostily.

"Not today, brother mine. Today is special. Do you know why, Mycroft?"

"Not a clue," Mycroft lied, apprehension growing.

"Tonight, at midnight, I'm going to watch you, brother dear, become an octogenarian!" Sherlock announced dramatically.

Mycroft groaned, and his brother smirked, delighting in his discomfort. Then Sherlock began serenading the former British Government:

"Happy Birthday to you,

I'm glad I'm not you,

All your hair is now gone,

But you're still putting the pounds on!"

"Shut up, Sherlock," Mycroft groused. "No wonder I've always hated birthdays."


	16. Good Night

"Go to sleep, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Because you need to go to school tomorrow, and we can't have you falling asleep during class again. Why, you practically failed a simple test just last week! It's obvious you weren't paying attention."

"I wasn't tired! The subject was just boring. Really, who cares that the sun goes around the earth?"

"Exactly my point. It's the other way around. Such ignorance is unacceptable for any brother of mine. Now, go to sleep!"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Bored."

"Oh, for goodness sake- alright, I'll read to you. Your science textbook, so that you get to revise the material."

"Boring!"

"You are the very definition of a pest. I have no idea why I put up with you."

"Cause Mummy said you gotta put me to sleep."

"Yes, and Mummy would probably be so disappointed if I tied you to the bed and taped your mouth shut. Pity."

"Read me _Treasure Island_!"

"I haven't got much choice, have I, pest? Alright, here we go..."

* * *

"Already asleep, little brother? I bet you're dreaming about adventure on the sea. You would indeed make a fearsome pirate, what with your excessive energy and tendency to annoy people to death. Sleep well, my little pirate.

Good night, and may your dreams be brilliant."


	17. Abduction

"...disembowel you, boil your liver, and feed your kidneys to the birds, before dissolving your brain in acid-"

"Sherlock?" John queried from the doorway, observing the scene in front of him with mild surprise. If it were anyone other than the Holmes brothers, he would have been a bit more shocked.

Mycroft was sitting at the table, calmly sipping tea while perusing some files. Sherlock was pacing up and down, sputtering with indignation, and issuing threats that grew more and more gruesome by the minute.

"John, good of you to show up," Sherlock turned to him, his tone suddenly eager. "Will you help me end the biggest threat to my continued survival, so we may live in peace once again?"

"Sherlock," John said tiredly. "Ending the British Government could definitely be considered a Bit Not Good."

"But you haven't even heard what he's done now!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft looked up. "Good to see you. Don't mind my brother, he's just being intransigent."

"Ah, do you have a case for him?" John nodded understandingly.

"I do not need his personal assistance on this case. I merely need a certain object of his, so I can have an agent of mine pose as him convincingly."

Sherlock bared his teeth. "John, he wants to abduct my Belstaff!"


	18. Christmas Parties Part 1

Christmas parties at the Holmes's always seemed to end on a bad note, for some strange reason. It was no surprise that the senior Holmes's eventually gave it up.

Nevertheless, they continued wishing to have their family together on that special day, especially once they reunited with their daughter. Every year since, their usually obstinate sons would oblige their parents, and travel with them to Sherrinford.

The two youngest Holmes would perform a concert, while the others watched. Mummy would always bring a gift, a book on the latest mathematical theories, and tearfully wish her daughter a Merry Christmas.

Eurus never looked at her, but, by Mycroft's reports, the books were always read. Dad would give Eurus his good wishes, smiling sadly. Mycroft would always remain silent. Afterwards, the parents would head home.

Mycroft and Sherlock had somehow started their own tradition. They would afterwards travel to Mycroft's residence, and have a smoke on the terrace. Mycroft had even relented and allowed Sherlock a full-tar cigarette.

Sometimes, their ciggies were enjoyed in complete silence. When the mood was right, they would banter and jab between puffs. They always ended their shared activity with Sherlock's facetious wishes for a merry Christmas, to which Mycroft's wish of a happy New Year's always came on beat.


	19. Christmas Parties Part 2

The annual Christmas traditions were slowly changing.

Mildred Holmes took them all by surprise when she suffered a stroke. The tough old woman fought for three months, before another stroke took her life. William Holmes lasted barely two years more.

Sherlock and Mycroft continued to visit Sherrinford, until Eurus was no more. As much chaos as her life had caused, her death was peaceful by contrast, as she passed way one night in her sleep.

Sherlock still went to Mycroft's every year, because it was the only place in London that wasn't drowning in those horrid affectations of holiday cheer. Or so he claimed.

There was the year that Mycroft didn't smoke. "Not with the state my lungs are in, I'm afraid," he said dryly.

"Well, would you like me to put your cigarette away for next year?" Sherlock questioned in a bored voice.

"There will be no next year," Mycroft scoffed. "Don't be like that, Sherlock. _E_ _veryone_ dies. It's the one thing you can expect people to do."

"I didn't think you're people" Sherlock said sharply.

"Apparently I am," Mycroft answered, finally allowing a hint of sadness to show.

The next Christmas Sherlock brought one cigarette. He carefully placed it on top of the gravestone, beneath which his brother lay buried.


End file.
